Lord Mullion's Secret (23 page)

‘Surely,' Lady Mullion asked quietly, ‘something of this would have come down in my husband's family?'

‘So one would have supposed. But it was not so. The late earl, your husband's brother, was himself a somewhat secretive man.' Atlay made his weightiest pause yet. ‘And it is thus that we come to the young man we are so happy to have with us today: happy, I hope, because it was Camilla's wish that it should eventually be so. Swithin is the son of one Ammon Gore, Abel's only child. And he is thus the grandson of Rupert and Camilla Wyndowe.'

For some moments there was an absolute silence. At the far end of the room Dr Hinkstone stirred uneasily, but Swithin sat like a stone.

‘And that's the whole thing?' Sylvanus Wyndowe suddenly shouted.

‘So I have for long supposed.' Dr Atlay paused – but this time plainly without any notion of rhetorical effect. ‘I hope it will be understood,' he then went on, ‘that I was not in a position to break the late Miss Wyndowe's confidence, which had been reposed in me, indeed, virtually in my sacerdotal character. I did feel it my duty to inquire most carefully into her story. It is clear that as a young girl in Rome she could have been imposed upon very readily, whether in one way or another. I found myself very much doubting whether Rupert Wyndowe had ever gone through a valid marriage with anybody. In his position, it would not have been an easy thing to conceal. He might well, it seemed to me, have staged an entirely spurious ceremony with Camilla – and later, instead of confessing this to her, have told her that their marriage was worthless because bigamous. But now I come to my final discovery. And I fear I have to warn you that it is utterly confounding. Only a few days ago, among the innumerable family papers that have silted up here in the castle, I came upon a small bundle of letters written by Rupert Wyndowe. They had been addressed to a female correspondent, and must be described as composed in a coarse and boastful vein. The lady, it seems, must have grown disgusted with him and returned his correspondence – which he then did not trouble to destroy. In one of the letters he tells the story of the affair with his cousin. Being determined to desert her, he simply invented the assertion that their marriage had been bigamous. It had been nothing of the kind.'

‘
It had been nothing of the kind?
' It was Lord Mullion who repeated this, and the action seemed suddenly to clear his mind. ‘Damn it, Martin, a marriage can't be bigamous if it hasn't been a marriage at all, but only a filthy charade! Surely–'

‘Precisely so, Mullion. Rupert had to think up the lie about bigamy to get rid of Camilla while keeping her quiet. The marriage ceremony he had gone through with her in his period of first infatuation had been as valid as you please. At the moment, of course, we have only the evidence of a boastful and disagreeable letter. But I fear I am fairly sure that research will prove it to be true.'

‘May I ask a question or two, please?' Swithin had jumped to his feet, and it was immediately evident that he was furiously angry. But the effect was to lend him even more than his usual command of confident speech. ‘Are we to understand that the lady we called Miss Camilla Wyndowe in fact bore a legitimate son to her husband and cousin Rupert, the heir to the earldom?'

‘That is certainly so,' Dr Atlay said, ‘unless we are very far astray indeed.'

‘And this child became known as Ammon Gore because fathered on a certain Abel Gore, and his wife whom I think of as my grandmother Pipton?'

‘Yes.'

‘And Ammon Gore married, and I am his only child?'

‘Yes.'

At this point it is to be regretted that Swithin (lately Gore) a little lost his temper and even his head. His next remarks came as a shout the effect of which was oddly akin to some of those achieved by Mr Sylvanus Wyndowe himself.

‘Are you trying to make a bloody earl of me?' Swithin shouted. ‘I'll have nothing to do with it. It's a damned disgrace. It's a load of old rubbish.' He swallowed violently. ‘Not earldoms and so forth,' he added rather desperately. ‘I don't care about them any way on. But all this. And raking things up. And, as I say, making a monkey of me.' With this decline into inelegant speech Swithin sat down, as if his bolt were momentarily shot. And it was now Cyprian who stood up.

‘I do think there's something to be said for getting things a little clearer,' he said. ‘If Swithin wants to be Lord Wyndowe instead of me, I don't mind a bit.' Cyprian halted on this, perhaps astonished to find that it was almost true. ‘But it would be rather steep if he wanted to turf out my father and become Lord Mullion at once.'

‘Oh, shut
up
!' Swithin had jumped to his feet again and was advancing belligerently upon his so recently acquired kinsman. Cyprian, to Lady Mullion's evident discomposure, was equally disposed to turn her drawing-room into a boxing ring. The two young men squared up to one another, furiously glaring. Then – and with absolute simultaneity – they both burst out laughing.

‘Rubbish!' Swithin shouted. ‘Utter rubbish!'

‘Rubbish!' Cyprian echoed – mysteriously but with complete conviction.

‘Rubbish, indeed.'

Dr Hinkstone had spoken for the first time – and so quietly that everybody turned and stared at him. What they saw was an old man in a most evident state of enjoyment.

‘Complete nonsense,' Dr Hinkstone said, ‘and simply for want of a few facts. Our well-informed vicar is a little lacking in information, I am glad to say. Or I
think
I am glad to say. Nothing dramatic is going to happen to the Earldom of Mullion. And Swithin is not the late Miss Wyndowe's grandson.'

‘What do you mean?' Swithin demanded, suddenly (and in both senses) turning round. ‘Didn't you tell me I was?'

‘No, my dear young man, I did not. I told you that Dr Atlay was going to tell you so. You are not Camilla Wyndowe's grandson. Nor are you Rupert Wyndowe's grandson either.'

‘Swithin's not a Wyndowe at all?' The question, expressed in terms of comical-dismay, came from Cyprian.

‘Ah!' Dr Hinkstone said. ‘That I did
not
say.'

 

 

‘Martin Atlay's narrative,' Dr Hinkstone pursued, ‘I am perfectly willing to accept apart from one small particular. And his feelings about it all do him credit, no doubt.'

‘My feelings,' Dr Atlay said with dignity, ‘are extremely painful: a fact I have been unable to suppress. The claims of truth are paramount, nevertheless.'

‘I quite agree, provided one has enough of the truth to flourish around.' Dr Hinkstone glanced rather wickedly round his auditory, so that a sensitive observer might have felt him to he extracting more amusement from the situation than its awkward nature warranted. ‘And enough of the truth means
all
the truth – about Wyndowes, Gores, and everybody else. But, of course, what one wants are the
relevant
truths. Rupert and Camilla Wyndowe were legally husband and wife. Rupert and Camilla Wyndowe were not legally husband and wife. One of these statements is true, and the other false. I am myself quite uninterested in which is which, since the point is of no practical concern to anybody now living. Let us agree, however, that the marriage
was
legally valid. As I have indicated, I am perfectly willing to concede the point.

‘Let us now consider what follows. Rupert, at that time Lord Wyndowe and heir to the earldom, has himself acquired an heir. But being a man utterly devoid of principle, and unwilling to acknowledge his marriage, he is content that this child should grow up on the family estate under the name of Abel Gore. This boy does so grow up, marries, and has a son called Ammon Gore. So far, and granting our first hypothesis, we are on what may almost be called firm ground. Whether these two gentlemen were by right successive Earls Of Mullion it might, I imagine, take many legal luminaries to determine – if not, indeed, the entire House of Peers into the bargain. But as both these rustic gentlemen are now dead, I think I am right in saying that nothing of all this would affect the present position of Lord Mullion. He would undoubtedly be confirmed in it, as would his son, were the question to be raised in any way.'

‘Nothing of the kind!' Cyprian had jumped to his feet, and was again in a condition of considerable excitement. ‘It's perfectly plain that Swithin–'

‘Ah! I come to Swithin now.' As he said this, Dr Hinkstone nodded benignly to the late heir of the Gores. ‘And the more readily, I may say, because he appears to be a perfectly sensible young man. With Swithin, moreover, I come to that single small particular in what may be termed Atlay's case that I am unable to accept. I have a little authority here, as I brought Swithin into the world. I fear, my dear Atlay, that you are not very likely to see him out of it.' Hinkstone paused on this stroke of wit, in which he seemed to find considerable satisfaction. ‘I repeat that I brought Swithin into the world – and, naturally, as being Ammon Gore's son. But this was a deception. It was a deception, no doubt, of a most painful kind, so that when I became aware of the truth I felt it to be far from my business to publicize it. It would, indeed, have been contrary to the ethics of my profession to do so. However, here is the fact now. Swithin is not Ammon Gore's son.'

‘How the devil can you know that, Hinkstone?' It was Lord Mullion who asked this question – and then promptly answered it himself. ‘Something not quite delicate, eh?'

‘You may express it that way, if you please, my dear Mullion. What happened was this. Ammon Gore, whom I had never attended before, fell seriously ill, and in fact died not very long afterwards in the cottage hospital. It was not before I had discovered that he was congenitally incapable of fatherhood. For what the point is worth, this was confirmed by two of my colleagues, and is a matter of verifiable record at need.' Dr Hinkstone paused briefly. ‘So if you accept my word on all this,' he concluded, ‘the entire matter can be dismissed from our minds.'

For some moments nobody had anything to say. And nobody seemed very pleased – least of all the suddenly unfathered Swithin. Then Lady Patience Wyndowe stood up, crossed the room, sat down beside her lover, and spoke for the first time.

‘I don't think so, Dr Hinkstone,' she said.

‘My dear child, there is no purpose–'

‘Didn't you say, or at least imply, that you were
not
asserting that Swithin is not a Wyndowe?'

‘If I did, it was inadvertent – or, rather, a mere pedantry. Anybody may be anybody, theoretically speaking.'

‘Damn it, Hinkstone, that won't do. It won't do at all.' Lord Mullion, as he made this all too obvious point, was suddenly surprisingly formidable. ‘Swithin, my dear lad, I hope you agree with me.'

‘Yes, sir, I do.' Swithin, after half an hour of mingled embarrassment and acute suffering, looked thoroughly formidable too.

‘We're not going to leave this on a note of bloody innuendo,' Cyprian said – violently, yet cogently enough. ‘You'll damn well say what you know, you old–'

‘Cyprian, dear,' Lady Mullion said.

‘You old fool,' Cyprian concluded composedly and on a milder note.

All this was extremely awkward and improper, and in face of it Dr Hinkstone was obliged to change his tone.

‘If I have mishandled this,' he said, ‘I apologize. Perhaps it is now unavoidable that more should be said. But it must be with due warning, Lord Mullion. For what remains is something that Atlay would be abundantly justified in calling extremely painful. But I acknowledge that one further fact is due to this young man.'

‘If Swithin is a gentleman's son,' Atlay said augustly, ‘he is certainly entitled to know the fact.'

At this Swithin made to speak. It is only too probable that he was going to say (or shout) ‘To hell with gentlemen's sons!' Patty's hand on his knee, however, restrained him for a moment.

‘Very well,' Hinkstone said. ‘Eventually the unhappy woman–'

‘Don't call my mother the unhappy woman,' Swithin said – but tolerably calmly. ‘Just get on.'

‘Eventually she confided to me her child's true parentage. The boy christened as Swithin Gore was in fact Mr Sylvanus Wyndowe's son.'

‘
By God, I've got a son!
' Sylvanus Wyndowe had leapt to his feet, and his complexion was like a beacon suddenly ignited to announce some portentous event. ‘Damn it!' he roared, ‘it was that little Amy. It all comes back to me. She was married to a Gore. I've got a son, as well as that gaggle of women. Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!' With these astonishing words, Sylvanus ran across the room, hauled the dumbfounded Swithin to his feet, embraced him, and showed every sign of proposing to waltz him round the resplendent scene of this bizarre conference.

It was at this moment that Savine entered, followed by a parlour-maid. His intention was no doubt to remove the tea-things. He gave one glance at the situation, however, and abruptly withdrew, shooing the young woman before him like a straying hen.

‘I'll take him into my house!' Sylvanus roared. ‘I'll make a man of him. I'll teach him to sit a horse–'

‘I can sit a horse!' Swithin shouted indignantly. Father and son glared at one another, each in a high state of emotional confusion.

Not unnaturally, this response to so untoward a sequence of events became general for a time. It was Charles Honeybath RA who eventually a little relieved the tension. He had been silent throughout the protracted
éclaircissement
, but now felt that something fell to be said.

‘My dear Mr Wyndowe,' he said, ‘it is fortunate that making a man of Swithin is unlikely to take you long. For it is improbable that Lady Patience will part from him for more than a month or two.'

‘And I am certainly not parting with him now,' Patty said, rising composedly to her feet. ‘Swithin and I are going out to dine together.' And Patty, for once in a way indubitably running her lover, took Swithin by the hand, led him up to her mother, presided over a kiss, and left the drawing-room on his arm.